


Pregnant

by KSOB



Category: The Americans (TV 2013)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KSOB/pseuds/KSOB
Summary: Elizabeth tells Philip she is pregnant with Paige.





	Pregnant

The floor of the bathroom spun viciously; a terrifying pattern of soft blue and white tiles danced in a kaleidoscope before her eyes as she tried to shut them out and ground herself to reality. One hand still clutched at the toilet bowl, although the grip became increasingly weaker as the seconds ticked by. Elizabeth fought against her senses as her mind pushed its way back into control over her physical limitations and she blinked slowly to focus her eyes again. She exhaled heavily, put her free hand against the bathroom floor and pushed herself up into a sitting position once more. Her hair was stuck against the sticky cool skin of her neck and collarbone, her shirt having slid awkwardly down her shoulder a bit when she slumped to the ground. Annoyed at how it pulled against her neck she turned to straighten it and, within moments, threw her head into the toilet bowl again as nausea overwhelmed her. 

She was seven, maybe eight weeks along. The doctor had confirmed it this morning. She had known for the last two weeks, but had refused to acknowledge it until it was too late to deny any longer. In truth she had only strongly suspected her condition, having never been pregnant before and with no real idea of how it would show signs physically except for what she had read in books and been told by others. But she and Philip had been trying to conceive for so long and without much luck that she had stopped allowing her hopes to rise. For the first few weeks of their attempts at pregnancy she anxiously made appointments at the doctor after every migraine or slight fever, desperate to give Philip the news so she could cease stoically offering from across the dinner table, “I think we should try again tonight.” 

But now, now that it was real and she was pregnant she had no desire to share the news with him. The thought of finally being able to rebuff his advances for a while gave her no pleasure as she imagined the joy that would be written across his face when she told him she was pregnant. He would probably blink stupidly at her, mumble something about being a father and, dear god, move to hold her in some fashion. Her mind began to frantically run through scenario after scenario as to how he could react, each theory becoming more and more dramatic until she commanded her mind to still. She would not allow herself the agony of predicting his behavior, nor would she allow him the unknown satisfaction of being in her thoughts. Still, she could not bear the possibility of his undoubted excitement at the news. She would have to tell him in a controlled environment. Telling him in a public setting would be best. He wouldn’t make a scene in public for, as hostile as their relationship could be at times, he would never do anything to embarrass her publicly. Yes, she would tell him when they were not in the comfort and quiet of their own apartment. 

Having received a new wave of courage Elizabeth steadied herself once more and opened the bathroom door to make her way back into the living room. She had certainly been absent long enough for Philip to suspect something was wrong, but she assumed he would never ask so she planned no excuse. 

“I can’t figure out these numbers, have you had a chance to look them over yet?” 

To his credit, and her’s, she was right about Philip not prying for details.

Philip slid a piece of paper in her direction as she rejoined him on the couch. They had been decoding messages from the shortwave before she had to practically bolt to their bedroom’s master suite, but this paper seemed to be about something entirely different altogether. 

“What numbers? I haven’t seen these yet.” Elizabeth took the paper from Philip and studied the columns of figures.

“They are for our platform. A rough budget of sorts for the travel agency, but they just appear off to me. It cannot cost that much to run a travel agency.”  
Elizabeth slid the paper a few inches away from her, obviously uninterested in the topic of their cover employment. She was still irritated that they had to have any job at all other than orders from the Centre, but a travel agency felt doubly insulting. Planning extravagant vacations for bloated and wealthy Americans was the furthest from her desires and she felt this assigned job was far below her intelligence and value. 

“I have no idea how much it costs to run a travel agency. We’ll figure it out later.”

“I don’t know that we have much ‘later’ to work with. The Centre wants us to start looking at rental properties next week and -”

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” Elizabeth interrupted abruptly, not wanting to discuss it further and feeling as if another bout of nausea was right around the corner.

Philip looked up from the stack of papers sprawled out on their coffee table. Elizabeth rarely offered any type of indulgence, including eating outside of the apartment. He studied her carefully for a moment and, when she offered no change in her expression, decided to try and dig. 

“Don’t feel like cooking tonight, huh?”

Elizabeth looked away. “Something like that.”

“I can cook if you want.”

“I don’t want hotdogs,” she shot back with more venom than she intended.

Philip waited. “I know how to cook other things, Elizabeth,” he finally offered in return, hurt.

Elizabeth let her eyelids fall closed and sighed, frustrated with herself and Philip’s sensitivity. “I’m sorry, that was meant as a joke. I’m tired and just thought it would be nice to not have to worry about dishes tonight.”

Philip seemed placated by that response, although not entirely put at ease with her behavior.

“Sure. Anything particular sound good?”

“Chinese?” Elizabeth replied quickly, not wanting to give an inch for this conversation to go back to bordering on hostile.

“Great. I’ll grab my coat.” Philip stood and moved faster than was necessary, his uncomfortably in the conversation having reached a breaking point. He was not particularly thrilled at the idea of having to sit with just Elizabeth and carry on conversation as they ate. In their apartment they could sit in silence while eating and not put on airs about things being comfortable between them. But in public they had to act, pretend, play their roles of loving husband and adoring wife. Given her current state Philip guessed this would not be an easy act to pull off tonight. But, rather than argue, he complied and started toward the door, Elizabeth quietly slipping on a jacket and trailing behind him.

***

The restaurant was packed, “Thankfully,” they both thought for different reasons. By the time they were seated and ordered hunger had added a great deal of edge to Elizabeth’s already unsettled attitude and she searched frantically for some topic of conversation that would get Philip talking so she did not have to. 

“Did the Braves play today?”

“Yes, and terribly. It’s not even worth having a baseball team if they are going to embarrass themselves more than make runs.”

“So why do they keep them around then? Can’t they trade out players?” Elizabeth was ever analytical, all logic.

Philip reclined a bit, more than happy to dish out his knowledge of American baseball as a true fan would. “It comes down to money. Better players cost more to sign on with a team, so if a team doesn’t have a lot of money to throw around they only —”

“No pun intended,” Elizabeth interrupted, face and voice deadpan.

“What?”

“‘Money to throw around.’” Her joke still alluded him. “Like throwing around a baseball.”

Philip cocked his head slightly and smirked, “Are you - trying - to be funny? Because it’s not a great look on you, I have to say.”

Elizabeth offered the slightest hint of a smile while looking down to adjust the napkin in her lap which needed no adjustment, “I thought it was funny.”

“Oh, yeah,” Philip teased, “You are a regular Richard Pryor.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth addressed the waitress as their meals were set down before them then, to Philip, “Who is Richard Pryor?”

Philip looked at her a little wide-eyed, quickly rearranged his expression, and took a bite of an egg roll before responding, “He’s a famous comedian. American comedian.”

Elizabeth nodded once in comprehension, taking a bite from her plate. “You know your pop culture,” she replied. Then, seeing him misread her comment as condescending, followed with, “I meant that as a compliment. I could never keep up.” 

He held her gaze for a moment before digging into his food, apparently soothed by her follow up. Without receiving a prompting first, he scooped up a good portion of his mixed vegetables and plopped them onto her plate. She looked at him, questioningly, pulling a gentle confession from him, “I know how much you like them.”

The note of sincerity in his voice was touching. It was true; she did prefer the mixed vegetables over just about everything else on their menu, but her meal had not come with any. She smiled slightly, appreciatively, as Philip looked over his shoulder back toward the kitchen.

“I wonder where that tea is.”

“Tea?”

“Yeah. I ordered you tea when you were in the bathroom earlier. Green tea.” Elizabeth’s forehead crinkled as she stared at him, so he continued, "You always get green tea when we eat here. I thought it was weird that you didn’t order any, so I just assumed you forgot and asked the waitress to bring some. But now it looks like she’s the one who forgot.”

She would never know if it was hormones, exhaustion or just irrational emotion that caused her to suddenly tear up at his thoughtfulness. She looked down and blinked herself back to being in control of her own emotions. Confusion and gratitude shone brightly in her face as she mulled over the caring side he was showing so clearly tonight. Philip was almost always caring with her, save those moments during fights when his anger outweighed his obvious affection for her, but she had never truly noticed it before. Now, be it oversensitivity or guilt at bringing him out in public to tell him he was going to be a father, something made his thoughtfulness toward her rise to the top of her list of obvious truths. 

Before she had a chance to thank him for the tea, he struck another blow.

“You look pretty tonight,” Philip practically whispered from his side of the table. The compliment came from no where logical, even Philip himself wondered why he had said it. Of course he meant it, he had been captivated by her presence all evening. But it was rare of him to simply blurt out his thoughts about her, usually because his early attempts had been met with glares, silence or gentle requests to stop. 

Elizabeth offered none of her usual replies to his soft words. Instead she looked up from her plate, his head still down as he ate a little too quickly for propriety. She tucked her hair behind one ear and shyly replied, “Thank you,” before guilt at her plan to tell him about the baby here, in public, flooded her. The restaurant suddenly felt overly crowded, loud, stiflingly impersonal. The safe zone that she had once envisioned in her mind turned into a spotlit stage and, though she hated to feel this way, an insulting setting to share the news with Philip. “Damn him,” she thought. “Damn him and his unpredictable behavior.” She shifted her weight a bit, clearly bothered.

“You alright?” Philip asked between large bites of food, the waitress finally setting the tea down at their table.

Elizabeth snapped out of her internal dialogue, embarrassed to have been caught fidgeting physically and emotionally. “Yeah. I was just going to pour some tea. Do you want some?”

“Nah, I don’t love green tea,” Philip brought his fork up to his mouth again.

“You,” Elizabeth began slowly, “ordered the tea just for me?”

Philip’s eyes narrowed, obviously confused. “Yeah. I said I ordered it for you, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, yes. You did say that. But I thought — I just didn’t realize you —” She stopped, unsure of how to continue her train of thought without sounding foolish. “Thank you. Again.”

Philip slowed his chewing for a moment, reading that something was off but not still new in his skills of being able to figure her out. They were early on in learning to understand each other; one too many assumptions or attempts to use analyzation gone wrong had led to many a bitter fight between them and, months ago, Philip had resolved to give up all attempts at trying to read her and simply take what was happening at face value. Or at least this was his tactic until peace was able to settle in their home, and their relationship, once again. Their struggles to conceive added greatly to Philip’s goal of being passive, as Elizabeth seemed to be unnecessarily hard on herself over their bout with infertility and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel further blamed. So, he chose grace and swallowing his anger in favor of tight smiles and silence when with her.

“So, how was your day?” He broke the awkward silence, mouth full of food.

“Uneventful, really.” She finally was making progress on her own meal, her stomach settling enough for her to eat. “I tripped outside the store. About landed on my face with my arms full of groceries.”

Philip smiled, the image of her being anything but graceful fully amusing to him. “Not uh!”

Elizabeth laughed softly, “Yeah. It was embarrassing.”

“What kept you from hitting the ground?”

“Just a quick recovery, I guess.”

“Maybe you have perfect balance.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Elizabeth neared the end of her meal.

“Did you ever take dancing lessons or gymnastics as a kid?”

Elizabeth’s head shot up and she met his eyes, a look of consternation gripping her expression.

“In Chicago?” Philip continued smoothly.

“No,” she offered flatly, tension draining from her face.

“Me neither. My parents were big into baseball, though. Forced me to play when I was little, even though I hated it. Funny how the things we loathe when we were kids become our favorite things as adults, huh?” It was a seamless transition. Philip’s ability to discuss a childhood that never existed almost surpassed her own, and Elizabeth respected him for it.

“Like mixed vegetables,” she smiled, taking the last bite from her plate.

“Long afternoon naps,” he bantered back.

“Green tea.”

“Or girls.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and huffed from her end of the table. He could be unbelievably cheesy at times, almost childish in his humor. Her logic usually kicked in during moments like this and she would burn with frustration and irritation at, what she deemed, his immaturity. Not tonight, however. His behavior was almost enduring to her and she, for a moment, softened as she thought of a young, tiny Philip chasing girls on the playground. 

“It’s hard for me to imagine you ever not liking girls,” she finally replied, having finished the last of her food and leaning back in her chair, teacup in hand.

Philip waited a beat, uncertain. “What does that mean?”

Elizabeth raised her eyes to meet his, hoping direct eye contact would reenforce her attempt at a compliment, “It means you have a way with women. It’s hard to picture you having to learn what seems to come so naturally to you.”

Philip was taken aback. Her words sounded like a compliment but, whether from conditioning or reality, something inside of him wanted to receive them as an insult. He held her gaze, trying to read the situation before him, and her expression remained soft and open as he searched her face. Elizabeth’s heart beat rapidly in her chest as he stared at her, a rare bout of anxiety beginning to creep up as she second guessed her own words. Defiantly, though, she held on to her resolve and his eyes at her own.

Philip was uncomfortable with her demeanor, still having not a single clue as to what she was really thinking or saying, despite her apparent honesty throughout the evening. Rather than be vulnerable in saying “thank you” to her words or starting a war by accusing her of being sarcastic he chose to retreat with a simple, “Want to get ice cream?”

Elizabeth smiled softly and nodded while Philip waved the waitress over to pay the bill.

***

Philip pulled the car into their apartment’s parking spot and switched off the engine. The music softly playing in the background disappeared and silence filled the small space of their used car. He stole a glance at Elizabeth, her having fallen unusually quiet on the drive home, and noticed her staring down at her feet. Her breathing seemed only slightly more rapid than usual, a fact no one but Philip would have ever noticed. After two years of sleeping by her side he had learned to read her breathing perfectly. All the physical signs she gave off he could read, even her mind and actions he could often predict, but it was her emotions that remained a mystery to him. Clearly lost in a sea of them at the moment Philip was at a loss as to what was bothering her. 

Then it struck him.

“She is going to suggest we have sex tonight, try again at pregnancy,” he thought with a sudden drop of his heart. He knew she was not attracted to him and did not enjoy being intimate with him, despite his best efforts to make their interactions pleasurable. Rarely did she show excitement in bed and he knew she hated herself when she did, usually a reaction more to the shot of vodka in her system than anything he had done. Elizabeth had stated on more than one occasion that it was part of the job, an assignment, a necessary act to solidify their cover. But it still stung him to see her so closed, so guarded, so uninterested. As a result, the thing he had most anticipated since being paired with Elizabeth had become a chore and something that he dreaded. He had practically fallen in love with her when she first turned her soft hazel eyes on him in Zhukov’s office at their first meeting. He daydreamed about her during their training, frustrated that their new knowledge of seduction had to be practiced on hired whores and not each other. His frustration grew when she defensively told him, “I’m not ready” upon their first night in America, and he laid in bed next to her night after night willing himself to not reach for her in the dark until she was ready. 

His disappointment at her lack of enthusiasm when she did initiate intimacy with him could never be overstated and, to Philip’s lacerated heart, would never be forgotten.

To know that the idea of sleeping with him tonight was causing her this much anxiety was too much, especially considering the amiable evening in which they had appeared to engage just an hour before. Without saying a word he opened his car door, slammed it more forcefully then he intended and walked up to the apartment. Elizabeth, who had been building up inner courage to force out the words, “I’m pregnant,” followed closely behind him, stunned at his odd behavior. 

Philip threw the apartment door open, tossed his jacket on a chair in the living room, and turned to go toward the bedroom, almost running straight into Elizabeth. She hopped back a step to avoid a collision and mumbled what sounded like an apology as she closed and locked the door. She did not know what had suddenly come over him, but she had made up her mind on the drive home that she would tell him tonight, and her determination won over her curiosity at his apparent change in attitude. 

He turned to move past her and was stopped by her voice gently calling his name and her small hand on his arm.

“Philip—”

He hung his head, preparing himself for yet another awkward, “I think we should try again tonight,” and sighed heavily as he considered the cards dealt him: A beautiful woman asking to be physically intimate while being more emotionally and mentally distant than he could fathom.

She called his name again, hoping to get him to turn in her direction. He did, but only slightly and with eyes still on the floor. 

Elizabeth breathed deeply, tightening her grip on his arm the slightest degree before finally letting the words spring forth, “I’m — we’re pregnant.”

She felt his body tense but, other than a sudden rigidness in the arm under her fingers, he showed no signs of recognizing of her words whatsoever. No gasp, no springing forth of emotion, no attempts to hold her. Now, as she stood awkwardly with her hand on his arm and her words hanging in the air, she felt herself wishing her earlier predictions of his behavior would come true. After agonizing seconds that seemed to stretch much longer than they should have, Philip lifted his head sharply and looked his falsified wife in the face. Elizabeth’s expression was stripped bare of pretense and a fragility he had never seen before was dancing in her eyes. She looked as if his next words were the only thing she had ever cared about, and he realized she was telling the truth. They were pregnant. Elizabeth was going to have a baby. His baby.

“You’re pregnant?” he finally spoke, his voice absent of tone

She nodded.

“The —the doctor —” he fumbled trying to finish his sentence and, after a moment of searching for the words, Elizabeth finished them for him.

“I saw him this morning. Seven weeks along.” Elizabeth watched as Philip’s expression fell, clearly unaware of the nuances of discovering one is with child, and assuming she had known for weeks without telling him. She clarified, “I’m seven weeks along, but I just found out this morning. I haven’t told anyone yet.” Then, after a brief pause, “I wanted — thought— I should tell you first.”

“You haven’t told Gabriel?” Philip tested.

Elizabeth saw right through it. “No.”

“The Centre doesn’t know yet?”

She shook her head.

Philip exhaled slowly, turned to face her and, placing his hands on her arms, met her eyes, keeping his expression blank and voice even.

“You’re sure? You’re really pregnant?”

“Yes,” was her gently reply, though her heart rate was now picking up speed. “Why won’t he smile? Do anything that shows some sort of emotion. Is he not happy about this”, she wondered desperately. She could not explain why, but she needed him to be excited about this baby, to be excited about her having his child. She cursed silently at her own weakness and willed her body not to start trembling.

Philip let his eyes fall back to the floor, hands clenching slightly as they hung at his side.

“And you are sure it’s —” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. They had not talked about certain operational protocols at great length, but he remembered clearly the day she had come home from her first honey trap. There was a visible change in her demeanor, a severity to her isolation the next day. She had stated over and over again that “it was fine” and she “wasn’t bothered by it,” but he knew well the emptiness in her eyes because he recognized it in his own after his first sexual encounter at the Centre’s ordering. He never asked about her escapades with targets and she never offered information. To bring it up now felt inhumane and insulting, but he needed to be sure and his response to the news of this baby wholly depended on the answer.

Elizabeth could see where his thoughts had wandered, and so she spoke confidently and with grace, “The baby is yours, Philip. You’re the father. I’m positive.”

The word “father” echoed so loudly in Philip’s mind he was sure Elizabeth could hear it herself. His heart filled to bursting within him, and the surge of affection he felt toward the woman before him was so overwhelmingly powerful it frightened him. A protective nature sprang up in his spirit and he suddenly had the urge to force her to sit down, ask if she felt okay, promise to not let anything hurt her or their baby. Their baby! He was giddy and proud and, damn her, out of his mind in love, and he fought to stuff all three emotions down deep where Elizabeth would never see them and, therefore, never think less of him for feeling them.

But it was useless. He was bare before her and she saw it. Surprising even herself, though, nothing in Elizabeth’s own spirit moved to pick up his vulnerabilities and use them as a weapon against him. She stared at the top of his head as he looked down and caught herself wondering if their child would have dark, curly hair like its father.

Finally, finally, he looked up at her and his face broke into a goofy, lopsided smile. He reached for her arms, holding them in a grip tight enough to hurt a little, and he took two steps closer to her, his eyes dancing with excitement and something else, something Elizabeth could not quite read. His hands slid to her back, arms encircling her small frame and he pulled her toward him. She froze, more out of habit than disgust, then relaxed against him, allowing her own uncertain arms to lightly come around his midsection, her fingertips just barely hovering above the small of his back. He rested his jaw on the top of her head and exhaled, whispering “You’re going to have a baby,” with far-off wonderment dripping off each word.

Elizabeth willingly allowed and welcomed the moment between them, relieved that he had finally shown a reaction that did not terrify or puzzle her. She breathed in his scent, a distant fragrance of cologne and the more predominate cheap laundry detergent she had picked out years ago, never deviating from her routine purchases. But the scent that most strongly pulled her under was just him, the smell of Philip. And, given the reality of his child growing inside of her, it was a comforting scent to now have pressed so close against her senses. They were in this together. It wasn’t ideal, but it was theirs. In his arms, for just this moment, she knew she was safe, content and her fears of becoming a mother, her decidedly unwanted approach toward children of her own and her insecurities about her relationship with the man before her melted away.

Which is why the words that then escaped her lips shocked her into a furious upset.

“It will help our cover.”

For a moment she was convinced she only thought those horrid words and not spoken them aloud, but the instant shift in Philip’s demeanor confirmed her fears. She had spoken them. And he had heard them. Her mind broke into a panic, desperately trying to come up with some phrase to backtrack from the tremendously hurtful thing she had just said. “That’s not what I meant. I am excited too. I’m sorry,” her mind screamed, but the words would not come. She felt Philip pull away from her, her arms reluctantly being slid back toward the front of his body, not quite ready to fully let go. His eyes met hers and she felt as if she had been hit full force in the chest as his face shifted to distant and cold. He dropped his hands from her, stepped back a safe distance and spoke in a quiet voice that sent a chill down her spine, “I’m sure that’s exactly what you wanted. Congratulations,” before turning to walk past her and out the front door again. 

“Philip, I —” she started after him, stopping when the door was loudly shut in her face, separating the two of them with a brutal force.

Elizabeth, stunned and broken, stood in the entry way and stared at the nothingness before her. Within a flash her fears returned and knowledge of the child within her left her feeling nauseated for reasons beyond morning sickness. Furious, hurt and overwhelmed she stood with glassy eyes not truly focused on the door, her chest beginning to heave involuntarily and she felt tears brimming at her eyes. Behind her she heard the clock on the wall tick loudly, without her permission, counting down the moments of her agony and agitating her already raw heart. Furious with disappointment, she turned, grabbed the clock and and threw it to the ground, feeling no relief as it splintered into pieces scattered on the tile floor.


End file.
